Worth Fighting For
by Eva Galana
Summary: He lost everything & everyone he ever loved; She had been put aside once the throne was secured, the Blight ended. Can two who have suffered great heartache set aside their pain & find acceptance/love with one another? Hurt/Comfort PostBlight/PreAwaken
1. Chapter 1

_This was a request/challenge on the Cheeky Monkeys Forum for a Fergus/F:Warden pairing. _

_This is going to be a story, so figured I'd start out with outlining certain things in this first chapter. Now, you will notice that Alistair is portrayed as not being his usual loveable ingame self. That is on purpose. I have an Alistair here who is hardened, but went in a different direction with it. Rather than using his newfound strength to keep the woman he loves by his side, he uses it for more selfish purposes. So, please, no reviews where Alistair isn't Alistair…I already know that._

_And, for those of you who have read my other stories, well, you know…I do not go canon. I just can't bring myself to doing so. Of course, this storyline is never intimated ingame, so, it's very AU._

_And, as always, I own nothing. I keep wishing upon those bloody stars, but still, nothing! It's all BioWare's baby, fleshed out by the talented David Gaider. *sighs* Some day…_

_Worth Fighting For_

_Chapter 1_

Dark eyes skimmed over the well dressed forms that glided and danced, laughed and tarried throughout the grand ballroom. His wife had always loved these festivities: grand parties, she had called them as she rejoiced at the occasion to purchase a new gown that would show off her slender form. He had always hated these events, as had his father, remonstrating them as mere circumstance to allow those seeking favor to postulate and garner favors for themselves.

Of course, as the second most powerful man in all of Fereldan, he could not shirk his duty. As the sole surviving member of his family, he found himself, alone, attending to the new king's coronation and subsequent celebration thereafter.

At the thought of the new king, Fergus Cousland's eyes wandered to where the young Theirin stood amidst a vast sea of Fereldan's eligible daughters. His eyes narrowed as he watched the king flirt and joke, causing more than a blush or two to color the cheeks of those young hopefuls. He seemed well in his element, pleased with himself. But the older noble could not help but feel disdain for the young king, for what he had so blatantly and thoughtlessly tossed away.

That thought brought the Teyrn's eyes from the king, seeking out the one figure he truly wished to see, yet hoped had not attended the celebration.

As he knew she would, there she was. Standing taller than most of the noblewomen present, she was resplendent in a gown of deepest blue, trimmed with silvery gray: the colors of the Grey Wardens. Her dark, auburn hair hung in great waves around her shoulders, cascading, loose, down her back. Her heart shaped face was bent down, listening to the blond elven man that was ever at her side. Zevran, the Teyrn recalled the elf's name. His attention was back on the young woman's face. When he had first met her, she was like a great beacon, her face open, friendly, a eternal smile upon her lips, her dark eyes alight with humor and mischief. Although undeniably beautiful, it was that inner light, that almost perpetual good humor that had caught Fergus' eye, those days before the fateful Landsmeet that had installed Alistair upon the throne.

Now, that light was gone, not merely dimmed. The smile lines around her mouth betrayed who she had once been, and did not reconcile with whom she was quickly becoming.

A sad young woman, who fought not to raise her eyes to glance over at the golden king awash amidst a great sea of those he had deemed more worthy of his attentions than she.

A scowl threatened to make its appearance upon his face, and Fergus fought against it, smiling genially at the young woman who had crept close to garner his attention. As the second most eligible noble in all of Fereldan, Fergus was quickly finding himself amidst his own quagmire of young hopefuls, those who did not deem themselves capable of vying for the king's attention, but hopeful they may yet catch the Teyrn's eye.

So, trapped, the young Teyrn spoke of meaningless things to those vapid noblewomen, catching a snippet here and there as his eyes inevitably strayed to the figure of the Hero of Fereldan, that nonsensical moniker Alistair had burdened her with. Every now and again, one of the women surrounding him would catch the track of his gaze, and a slight sneer would cross one pretty face or another. He caught the expression, but brought no attention to it.

Once more his gaze fixed upon her, watching as Zevran smiled, reaching up to gently push back a stray lock of her thick hair behind one small ear. A sad smile graced her lips, and the elf rose up on his toes as she bent down, allowing him to place a gentle kiss upon her cheek. Fergus' gaze instantly shifted to the king, who had watched the exchange. A slight feeling of amusement crept over him as he watched Alistair's face darkened, golden eyes narrowing. That he dared feel jealously when he had tossed her aside, claiming she was not good enough for the king of Fereldan? Would he allow her no comfort at all?

That amusement changed quickly to anger. He considered the young woman a friend. Met days prior to that fateful Landsmeet, she had smuggled him into the city of Denerim, to Arl Eamon's estate, keeping him safely hidden from those who would seek his demise. Those who had brought about the destruction of everything and everyone he had ever loved.

During those days, he saw a young woman desperately in love with a young man. A young man Fergus had thought loved her with equal devotion. However, after proclaiming Alistair king, Alistair stepped forward. His first order of business was to set the armies into preparation for defeating the Blight, proclaiming his fellow Warden general of those armies. The second, was the order of Anora's death.

The third had been a very public and humiliating break up with the young woman who was responsible for gathering allies to defeat the Blight, who had met Loghain in a dual and vanquished him single handedly.

Alistair's reasoning may have seemed sound: Magda was, after all, merely a mage. One that Fereldan's citizenry would never accept as Queen. However, Fergus knew better. Had Alistair truly cared for her as he had proclaimed, he would have fought for her. Made her his consort rather than Queen.

After all, since the Blight's defeat, the new Grand Cleric, a former Revered Mother Hannah from Redcliffe, all but sang the virtues of Magda Amell, proclaiming her touched by the Maker himself.

He snorted. For her boon in defeating the Blight, Alistair had so graciously proclaimed that all mages within Fereldan would have the power to govern themselves, making them true citizens of the Blighted country. The Chantry, led by Grand Cleric Hannah, immediately proclaimed the boon true and set, even going that one step further and proclaiming that all mages could renew their familial bonds. Those families who wished to be reunited could do so.

Of course, that proclamation had the added benefit that those mages born into noble families could, once again, be claimed as nobles and hold titles. Fergus' mind inevitably went to his twin sister, taken from even their powerful family at the age of five, when it had been revealed that she had magic. To the day she died, his mother could not bear having a mage in the employ of the family, as it reminded her too strongly of the daughter she had been forced to relinquish. The Chantry had even gone the extra, almost unheard of step of sending his sister, Abigail, to the tower in Orlais, stating that one born into so powerful of family would need extra protection. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had maintained the Chantry did so for fear that the second more powerful family in Fereldan would find a way to get their child back into their care.

In a strange way, sending Abigail to Orlais more than likely saved her life, if half the stories he heard of during the Blight were true.

Finally making a decision, Fergus graciously extricated himself from his admirers, and started toward where Magda Amell, Hero of Fereldan, stood, silent and watching, tucked into the dark sidelines of the grand ballroom.

OoO

Exhaustion had become a familiar feeling for her, and she found herself actually relishing in it. During the Blight, they traversed one corner of Fereldan to the other, and she had never felt as drained as she did as she stood, back to the wall, Zevran as always at her side, watching as the nobles danced and laughed, glided and tarried.

She purposefully kept her eyes from going to _him_. To do so…she was uncertain if she could keep her composure if she spied him.

What she really wanted to do was simply disappear, dissolve into whatever stone or wood work she stood before and simply cease being. After all, now she had no sense of purpose, no reason for being here - or anywhere. She had finished her last quest and now had nothing with which to occupy her time.

Her talks with the Grand Cleric had gone exceedingly well, and preparations for allowing the mages self-governship were well under way. Of course, concessions had to be made, and Magda felt that Her Eminence's requests were fair indeed. Templars would continue to monitor any Circle or subsequent schools, watchful for any signs of abominations. Blood magic, of course, was still illegal and any mage found practicing would be confined until his or her potential for danger could be evaluated. Magda had fought against the idea of immediately imprisoning or executing blood mages on sight. Her own experience proved that not all blood mages were evil, and she was certain that once restrictions were lifted, the frequency of Fereldan blood mages would drop.

Magda had bee pleasantly surprised by the Grand Cleric's proclamation that all mages were eligible for reuniting with their families, provided those same families wished for such renewed contact. Hannah had made a special note to point out that those born into noble families could resume their titles, inheritances and responsibilities as such. Magda rejoiced in that, as it meant that Connor Guerrin could reunite with his parents and remain as heir to the aging Arl's domain.

Her dark brown eyes lifted as she scanned the crowd. She had hoped to speak with the Arl and Arlessa regarding this latest development, but Arl Eamon had been making a point of ignoring her requests for an audience. The young mage frowned. She knew that the Arl did not like her, despite her saving his Arling, his wife and son. She was certain that his initial dislike came from the fact that she and Alistair had been involved. But surely, now that he had convinced Alistair that she was no good for him, that amenity could be set aside.

Her gaze fell upon the Arl and his wife. Eamon was studiously avoiding looking over into her corner, but Isolde glanced up, a smile crossing her lips as she nodded at the younger woman. Well, at least one Guerrin did not hate her. She supposed that was something.

A couple glided gracefully by her, and Zevran spoke. She had not been paying any attention to the sole friend who had remained by her side. And, while she knew that each had their own lives, she felt abandoned. Everyone who had come to mean so much to her had left her side within a month of the Blight's defeat. Save for Zevran.

Morrigan, true to her word, had vanished after the Archdemon had been defeated. Magda had mixed feelings about her fellow mage, a woman she had come to consider like a sister to her. To have found out that her true reason for accompanying them had been so that she could bear a child born with the soul of an old god? Magda shuddered, recalling how eager and willing Alistair had been to lay with the witch…she shook her head as she sought to drive the memory of the sounds that came from Alistair's room that night away.

Wynne was still in Denerim, but the wily old mage had gone to Alistair's side, joining his council as a representative of the magi. Magda was still fighting over that appointment. She did not feel that Wynne was an appropriate representation of the younger generation of mages that now resided within Fereldan and would be the ones to venture forth from the confines of the Tower. Fortunately, the Grand Cleric agreed and was working with the king to appoint someone younger and of a more balanced mindset. Wynne was too closed minded to properly represent all of the magi.

Leliana had vanished in the night, without a word or note. Sten had returned home, to give his report to the Arishok. Alabaster, her faithful mabari warhound, had perished during the final battle, and Shale had returned to Orzammar.

Of Oghren, Magda had received word that he had returned to Lake Calenhad, seeking to court his former lover, Felsi.

Magda glanced down, her dark eyes settling upon the turned profile of the handsome elven man who remained ever by her side. Zevran's stead fasted friendship and loyalty had touched her dearly. She knew that the elf was in love with her, although he had yet to say those words exactly. And, she loved him as well. But it was not a romantic love, one he had hoped would find her in his bed for more than chasing the nightmares away. That he remained, even without a promise that she would be his lover spoke of his great character and enormous heart. A small frown crossed her lips as she shoved away the memories of every disparaging remark Alistair and Wynne had made of the former assassin. He had proven more loyal than any of them had been.

A tear gathered in her eyes, and she berated herself for having thought of _him_. Zevran whispered something at her side, and she bent down slightly to listen. He was cooing at her, and raised a warm hand to brush a lock of hair back behind one ear. She turned, blinking away the tears, offering him a small smile.

"There, there, _mi a mica_," he crooned as his hand gently traced the curve of her cheek. "We shall not remain long," he promised as he rose up to place a soft kiss upon her cheek.

"Thank you, Zev," she murmured as she straightened, shifting her feet slightly. "You are a true friend."

"Ah, and what else can I be?" he quipped, a devilish smile crossing his handsome, tattooed face. "I make a good bed warmer as well, yes?"

A giggle forced itself from between her lips, and Magda nodded at her friend. "You are far more than that, Zev. Far more."

"Ah, this is good to hear," he purred, the smile widening as his eyes shifted back to the crowd. "Ever shall I remain by your side, my dearest Magda." His gaze settled back upon her face. "Never should you doubt that."

The smile that crossed her face was genuine, and Magda nodded as she lifted her head to watch the approach of the young Teryn of Highever.

OoO

He offered her a smile as he approached, and was gladdened that his young friend smiled in return. There was a flash of that light that had faded from her, and he wished that he had the power to make it return permanently. Zevran offered him a smile and nod as he approached.

"Greetings, Teryn Fergus," the elven assassin purred as he dipped into a deep bow.

Fergus shook his head, aware that the elf was putting on a show, perhaps in the hopes of making Magda smile. It worked, and he was glad for the elf's antics.

"Fergus," Magda greeted less formally, "how are you enjoying the festivities?"

Her voice was small, and the words foreign to the tone with which they were delivered. Quirking a dark brow at her, Fergus smiled, stepping closer as he bent down to whisper in a conspirator tone, "About as much as you are, Magda."

A chuckle burst from her lips, and she shook her dark head. "Ah, well, then, let's say we just set the whole of it afire and start anew."

That flash of her usual humor and suddenly the room was brighter. But, it dimmed quickly as she recalled herself and took a step back, her head bowing slightly yet again. Zevran noticed the shift, and frowned slightly, his honey gold eyes glancing slightly to the side, settling briefly upon the figure of King Alistair as he twirled a young hopeful around the dance floor.

"Actually, Magda, I do have a favor to ask of you," Fergus said, smiling at the young mage. She nodded and he continued. "I have decided to return to Highever." There was a clenching in his chest. He had not returned to Highever since he had left with the bulk of his father's forces to fight against the Blight almost two years prior. Months after the Blight's defeat, he had not found the heart nor strength to return.

A long fingered hand reached out and grasped his forearm. "Fergus, I am so sorry…" she began, and faltered, uncertain what else to say.

Shaking his head, he patted her sword calloused hand with his own. "It is time, I think. I understand most of Howe's men have vacated the castle, however, there may still be those few remnants who are unaware of just how illegal their…trespass is." His voice grew stern and strong, his brows furrowed and his eyes flashed. "I mean to show them just how wrong they are."

Silence fell for mere moments, and then Fergus, recalling himself, shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and resumed. "I have no doubt that…there are…" his voice caught here, and Magda's grip on his arm tightened as she stepped closer. He could feel her body warmth, and smiled at her. "I apologize. Perhaps this is not the time nor place…"

"Nonsense," Magda waved away his words. "If you've a mind to say something, then say it."

A grateful smile crossed his lips. "There will need to be clean up and restoration efforts, of that I am certain. I had hoped," his eyes lifted to meet hers. "I had hoped that perhaps you would accompany me and offer any assistance you could."

There it was again, that light, just behind her dark eyes. Zevran shifted slightly beside them, placing a hand to the small of Magda's back. "To feel useful again…" she whispered, frowning as her own words came to her ears. Focusing back upon the young noble before her, the mage nodded. "Fergus, I would be honored to offer whatever assistance I can."

"As will I," Zevran offered, extending a hand to the human. Fergus smiled at the pair, taking the proffered hand and giving it a firm squeeze and shake.

"When do you play to depart?" Magda asked, her body shifting so that she was turned fully away from where Alistair stood, more focused upon the Teyrn before her.

That was a good sign. "Two days hence," he replied, feeling as though a great weight was lifted from his shoulders.

With a slight bow of her head, "Two days hence, then," Magda responded. She took a deep breath, straightening to her full height. "I think that I have some packing to do." She glanced sidelong at her elven companion. "As do you, my friend."

Grinning up into her face, Zevran agreed.

"My thanks, My Lady," Fergus said as he took her hand, bowing over it before brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles. "If there is anything you need in the meantime, please do not hesitate to make it known to me."

"You have provided me with a sense of purpose, Fergus," Magda said as she gently withdrew her hand. "To leave Denerim, on such a noble undertaking, is more than I could hope for."

Then, with a bow, the mage glided across the floor and left the ball room. Zevran watched her depart and then turned to the Teyrn.

"My thanks, my friend," the Antivan assassin remarked, his voice and countenance serious. "Now that the business with the mages and Chantry has finished, I was worrying over what next would keep my dear Warden's attention. You have offered her a sense of purpose, and for that, I shall ever be grateful."

"It is I who owes her thanks," Fergus insisted, frowning at the elf as his gaze shifted from the retreating back of the mage back to his companion. "I doubt I could have found it within myself to find the courage to return had I not a friend such as she."

"Then we are all offering up our thanks, then!" Zevran chirped, clapping his hands together once. "Such a grateful bunch we are." Then, with a smile and another bow, the elf took his leave, following after the Warden mage.

Bemusedly, Fergus watched the elf's departure.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who has read, alerted and favorited this story. I was amazed that, when I started this, it was the only one for Fergus/F!Warden out there. _

_I especially want to thank those who reviewed: Nithu, celtic-twinkie, Shakespira, auradorina, Arsinoe de Blassenville, dyslecksec, Kira Tamarion, Donroth, Tropical Fool, jugelettePENNER_

_Worth Fighting For_

_Chapter 2_

Somehow, the air smelled cleaner the further from Denerim they traveled.

For some reason, the sun shone brighter, and she tilted her dark head, her face tipped up to the sunshine, basking in the warmth.

Even the food - campfire fare - tasted better than the banquets at the palace could ever have tasted.

The sound of the fire crackling in the fire pits - several to accommodate the soldiers accompanying them - rose above the chirps of the crickets and frogs that were out this late spring eve, and that sound, too, was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.

All in all, leaving had been the best decision Magda had ever made. She was free, no one depending upon her to make decisions or take responsibility for those decisions made. She was just a young woman, albeit a mage, looking for something that she could fit into.

She was glad that, in leaving, she was pursuing a worthy cause, helping Teyrn Fergus Cousland reclaim his house.

At that thought, she lowered her head, her dark eyes settling upon the form of the Teyrn, bent over his bowl of stew, listening as the veterans in his retinue described battles they had fought in, women they had dallied with, and nobles they had served. He listened, laughing aloud at the ribald tales, offering a question here or there, encouraging these men to continue with their tales. Magda knew that the young man was merely trying to keep his mind on anything other than what lay ahead of them, and she could not fault him. For all she felt she had lost, he had lost so much more.

Dirt shuffled, and she felt the log she sat upon shift as Zevran settled his weight next to her. Turning her introspective gaze to her elven friend, she offered him a small smile, hoping it would assure him she was well, not dwelling upon unpleasant things. His face was slightly tight, but relaxed at her smile, and he pressed a bowl of stew into her hands.

"You must eat, cara mia," he prompted, lifting his own spoon to his lips, blowing gently over the steaming lamb and vegetables. Her smile turned into a grin as she began to ladle to hot food into her mouth.

Chewing thoughtfully, her gaze wandered once more over their camp. Many of the soldiers accompanying them were originally from Highever, having either managed to survive the catastrophe that was Ostagar or escape from the now deceased Arl Howe's slaughter of the Cousland family. Even without their Highever livery, it was not difficult to determine who had served the Cousland family and who were the soldiers provided by the Crown. Highever soldiers stood in close solidarity, their attention and focus solely upon their Teyrn. It was also these very men and women who now sat, comfortably, in Fergus' company, sharing stories, reflecting upon the past, looking forward to the future. The soldiers provided by King Alistair stood more aloof, watching the surrounding shadows as carefully as the Highever knights and warriors, but never engaging in the camaraderie that personified those from Highever.

After all, they had not lost what was lost that one murderous night nearly two years prior. They were not the ones trying to regain some semblance of normalcy, reconnecting with those they had been separated from for more than a year.

It was not the soldiers of the Crown that dreaded what awaited them at Cousland Castle, what horrors, what damage, _what _awaited them therein.

And so Fergus Cousland and his men and women talked, joked, reminisced, trying to keep at bay ponderings of what awaited them at what had been their home, their refuge. The place they should have been the safest…the place their beloved should have _been _safest.

Her gaze remained upon the smiling face of the Teyrn for a moment, glad that he had managed to find some peace within the camaraderie of those loyal to his family. He had proven to be a good man, one she was certain would continue with his family's fabled fairness and stewardship of the lands and peoples of the largest Teyrnir within Fereldan's borders. He had made great strides these last few months. She only hoped that whatever they found within the walls of Highever Castle would not break that tenuous hold on his sanity that she was certain lurked beneath the smiling veneer.

"A copper for your thoughts?" Zevran quipped, shifting closer to her without moving from his spot upon the log.

After a moment, she answered, "I am only hoping that Howe's men at least had the forethought to remove any…unpleasantness from the castle." She frowned, turning her eyes upon her friend. "I cannot imagine living in a place filled with corpses and ghosts."

His tawny eyes thoughtful, the elf nodded. "Ah, but my lovely friend, every place has it's own share of ghosts, no?" He tilted his head, smiling up into her face. "Sometimes, ghosts lurk in places only the heart can feel."

The mage blinked, at a loss for words. Always, the elven assassin had a way of displaying just how deep, how complex a persona he was. On the outside, he was all smooth and lusciousness, flirting with man or woman, regardless of age, station or even attractiveness. To Zevran, everyone deserved of some attention.

However, it was that deep, contemplative aspect of his personality that had allowed the pair to become such good friends. Having grown upon the Circle, where affections were hard won, and easily put aside, where attachments were not only discouraged but frowned upon for fear of what power the templars would garner from same, she was used to being objectified, appreciated for her appearance more so than any thought she may have had. Alistair may well have been her first - and to date, only - lover, but she had learned early on how to use her own sexuality and attractiveness to her own advantage, both with mage and templar alike, without actually committing to the act itself. She grinned as she recalled how a friend had once called her a tease, all the while trying to get her alone in a corner.

It was Zevran, however, that had delved deeper into her personality, seeking something more than an attractive companion. He had a way of dissecting through the flotsam, seeking out the pearl of wisdom, the ideals and goals of those around him, without their even being aware of it. To Magda, his intuitive perceptions more than his attentiveness made him the dearest friend she had ever had.

His words were so true. Her gaze sought, once again, the hunkered down form of the nobleman, still amidst his men, silently listening, offering a smile at just the right time. No matter what they may find - or not find - at his home, the ghosts that no doubt lurked within his heart and his soul could well be far more dangerous than anything that may lay within the cold stone walls of the castle.

oOo

Several more days passed without incident. All total, between the warriors of Highever and the knights of the Crown, the Teyrn was accompanied by well over two hundred strong arms. He glanced back from his perch upon his horse, watching as Magda sat stiffly - _too stiffly _- in her saddle, Zevran at her elbow upon his own mare, giving the young mage instruction on how she should be holding herself. He was thankful for her presence, not only as a friend, but as a powerful mage. He had seen her skill with both healing and the huge, blue metal sword that was sheathed upon her back.

He found it rather amusing that the Hero of Fereldan, slayer of the Archdemon, gatherer of armies and delver into all things dark would show any trepidation over riding a horse. Of everything she had accomplished, this seemed the most daunting to the young mage.

A chuckle found its way free of his throat, and Fergus paused, considering it. Out here, days from Highever, he could feel…free. Despite the dread the dwelled deep in his heart, despite what he feared would be found at the castle, for now, he just felt like Fergus, enjoying the company of the soldiers, of Magda and Zevran, and just being. He knew that feeling would be gone all too soon, and so he sought to hold onto it, even for this little while.

Maker only knew when it would all blow up in his face.

oOo

The sense of freedom had dissipated, filled with dread, horror and a great black despair. They had reached Highever, Cousland Castle rising as a great, gray giant against the black backdrop of a thunderous sky.

Fitting that the weather should match the mood of those who marched upon the castle.

As they neared, they watched as the tattered remains of the heraldry of the Arl of Amaranthine - a great bear upon a gold and white checkered background - whipped erratically in the stormy air.

As they neared, they could hear the fabric of the heraldry as it ripped through the air.

It was the only sound coming from the castle.

Frowning, Fergus raised a hand, calling for a halt of the column of soldiers and knights the followed behind. Glancing over at Magda and Zevran, he slowly dismounted, handing the reins of his mount to the squire that immediately rushed forward. Magda and Zevran quickly dismounted their steeds, taking positions by the Teyrn's side as he stood, silent and still, as he stared up the gray stone that comprised his home.

Minutes passed, and still Fergus remained staring upwards, as though afraid to move forward. Moving forward, Magda placed a hand upon his arm, and the noble glanced down. Taking a deep breath, Fergus awkwardly patted her hand, before stepping away from the young mage and moving toward the front gates of the castle's courtyard.

Hanging broken upon damaged hinges, the heavy wood and iron-bound gates leading into the castle's courtyard creaked slightly with the wind, and mutterings from the warriors behind them rose slightly. Magda stepped ahead of Fergus, her eyes narrowed as she reached out with her senses, trying to read the ancient fortress before them.

Energies tingled along the air, rushing along the mage's senses, sending shivers along her spine, causing the hair along her arms to rise. Nervous energy wound its way through her system, and she swallowed tightly, forcing the ill ease down as she would bile.

With a glance to her companions, the Warden mage stepped through the gates.

With a shrug, Zevran stepped past the Teyrn and followed his friend within. No choice left to make, Fergus turned to nod to his men, and then likewise followed the pair into the courtyard, the troops of the crown and Highever close behind.

Deserted, abandoned, dirty and dead. That was how the very courtyard, just outside the main doors opening to the great hall of Castle Cousland, felt to the sensitive mage. Her dark eyes skimmed the ground of the courtyard, watching as tiny dust tornadoes formed and skittered across the ground, answered by dancing dry leaves rustling faintly to their own dead music. Lids closed over chocolate eyes, and she lifted her face slightly, aware of Zevran's presence at her elbow, aware as Fergus and his men entered the great yard, watching the mage in their midst, uneasy with their own more mundane sense of the place.

So many had died here, in a single, violent instance. And the taint from that violence yet remained. She could feel it, sense it, almost taste it. As biting a the lyrium potions she consumed during battles, as vile to her senses as her harrowing had been. The unease of something not quite right flowed over her, and her eyes popped open, her hand going automatically for the blade upon her back as she shouted out a warning to those warriors behind her.

Accustomed to battle by her side, Zevran had already pulled his twinned daggers free from their sheaths at his hips, and flowed into the shadows as the Veil shifted, and dozens of shades erupted from the very air around them.

With shocked shouts and clumsy groping, the warriors - knights of the Crown, warriors of Highever - freed their own weapons and began battle against the vile Fade creatures that now surrounded them.

One shade, a great beast of flowing shadows and whirling dust, lashed out at the mage, growling lowly in its thick throat. Calling upon her battle magic, the arcane warrior brought her great sword forward and around, holding it in a two hand grasp, the glowing blue blade swept out, slashing at the creature, forcing it back and away from her.

Elbows bent, she brought the star metal blade back around, twisting slightly as she followed the creature as it sought the shadows.

Senses enhanced by the magic she learned so long ago in an abandoned ruin deep within the Brecilian Forest, the spirit healer turned arcane warrior followed it closely, easily stepping around the debris upon the ground as she followed her quarry into the cool depths of the shadows.

oOo

The shadows were as much his home as they were the dwelling of the shades they now battled. Grinning slightly to himself, the former Crow glided amidst the deep shadows, close behind the shade, stabbing out with blades enchanted against darkspawn, undead and Fade creatures.

Ah, how he missed Sandal and his nonsensical chanting of "Enchantment!".

The grin widened as one of those blades bit deeply into the flowing shadow that was the flesh of the shade. A rumbling roar greeted his actions, and he twisted away as the thing spun about, long arms slashing and reaching out to him, missing by barely a hair's width. Berating himself for being so slow, the elven assassin danced back, further into the darkness, luring the creature after him. He could feel it as it neared him, and he lunged forward, striking out with both blades. A grunt followed the action, and he twisted about, the blades still embedded deep within the unnatural flesh of his prey. A gurgling sound erupted from the Fade creature, and it slumped as Zevran yanked his blades free, and dashed off, in search of other fodder for his blades.

Ah, so like the old days.

oOo

Even knowing her, having fought by her side at the Landsmeet and during the battle at Denerim, it still amazed Fergus whenever he saw the mage fight with that huge two handed blade she wore so easily upon her back.

Of course, it rather amazed him that mages could fight at all.

His own great blade in hand, the Teyrn of Highever dodged back as one of those monsters dashed at him with amazing speed. Cursing as he stumbled slightly upon an exposed root, he quickly recovered, slashing out with the blade that was his heritage, the blade once held by his ancestor, Teyrna Elethea Cousland. The runes etched along the sharp edge glowed slightly as it drove into the shadowy flesh of the shade, and the creature screamed out, harsh and guttural. Fergus flinched at the sound, but twisted the blade before ripping it free. He watched in astonishment as the creature dissipated into the air, vanishing from sight.

Shaking himself, the young noble growled. It had been bad enough to consider that men who served Howe yet remained within the walls of his ancestral home. It was worse to think that an evil far worse than that perpetuated by man dwelled within the halls, wandered the corridors, slunk within the courtyards. With a snarl, he turned about, seeking out other foes upon which to whet his blade.

He would rid his home of any intruder, regardless of their origins.

oOo

The battle was over far too soon for Fergus' sensibilities. He had reveled in each death, with each strike. He knew he had seemed a mad man in the fight, had taken chances against the unnatural foes that assaulted them. Had Magda and Zevran not been with him, he doubted he would yet stand to relish in the afterglow of battle.

Bereft of any who served Howe upon which to whet his blade, the shades, creatures of the Fade, drawn to the mortal world because of the death and violence that had devastated his home, were a poor substitute. Nonetheless, they served as a substitute, and he found he had enjoyed the fight all too much.

He glanced over at the taut features of the warden mage who stood just slightly to his side, and he knew that she had been displeased with his actions during the battle. Although none of his men had fallen to the creatures, he had placed himself in unnecessary danger.

A fact that Magda had made an issue of pointing out to him in words that did not mince nor seek to circumvent the displeasure she felt.

Strangely, it warmed him somewhat that she had been concerned with his wellbeing enough to feel comfortable enough with delivering such a tongue lashing for his rather infantile behavior. Yet, at the same time, it irked him that this mage would dare question him. He had seen battle, knew the dangers therein. If he choose to place himself before his men, then so be it.

It had almost turned into an argument between the two, standing there upon the steps leading into the ancient fortress, as the warriors who accompanied them shifted upon nervous legs, trying to avoid watching as the Hero of Ferelden argued with the Teyrn of Highever.

It had been Zevran who had stepped between the two, reminding them all that they had just arrived, and that there was much left to be done before they could even consider settling within the walls of Castle Cousland.

Magda had offered her friend a small, thankful smile. Fergus felt far less pleased with the elf's interference.

As with the battle, he had relished in the battle of will and words with the mage.

He turned his gray eyes from the now flat features of the mage, and turned them toward the heavy wood and iron great doors that lead directly into the great hall.

That sense of dread once more sundered his heart, and he felt a desire to go back into the courtyard and seek out more shades to fight.

Now, faced with the opportunity of re-entering his home after so long gone from it, he could not find the strength to barely touch the doors, let alone push them open to reveal whatever it was that lay in wait for them.

It was almost too soon.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks as always to those who read, lurk, alert and review!: celtic-twinkie, Tyanilth, Kiki Aries, Shakespira, jugelettePENNER, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Nithu, Lady Cailan, Rosabell, Donroth, cloud1004. _

_Ahem, just to 'toot my own horn', this is the First Amell/Fergus C. pairing on the site. Just sayin'… *cheeky grin*_

_Worth Fighting For_

_Chapter 3_

For three days, the warriors, soldiers and knights fought their way through the castle, felling demons, shades and the undead with each hard earned, slow step deeper into the Cousland ancestral home. With each blow, Fergus felt as though the battle could well be won, that soon he would be standing in the heart of the ancient dwelling. Most of the shambling undead wore the livery of the Amaranthine Arling. With each foe felled, the young Teyrn felt rejuvenated.

During the battle, the feeling of power flowed over him, adding strength to his sword arm. With each undead soldier of Howe that fell in pieces, dried husks, to his feet, it seemed as though he had released some of that anger, that hatred that had threatened to overwhelm him.

Finally, on the eve of the third day, the young Teyrn paused, standing with the soldiers of Highever, Magda and Zevran, in the center of the Grand Hall. Overwhelmed with the fact that they were standing in the heart of their home, that each step had been hard won, that their duty was not yet at its end, the men and women found themselves leaning on one another, slumping to the floor in exhaustion and grief.

The knights provided by the Crown shuffled their feet as they stood on the perimeter of the Highever soldiers, obviously feeling very much the intruders in this solemn affair.

They would rest here the night, Fergus had decided, turning to order the watches for the evening.

In the morning, they would continue their sweep through the castle, beginning with the upper levels, working their way down to the cellars below. As sick as the thought of returning to the living quarters made him, Fergus knew that it was necessary if he was ever to reclaim his home in the name of the Couslands.

oOo

They had taken the habit of sitting with each other once they had battled as far into the haunted structure as they could. Magda and Zevran had become as close to him as anyone alive. However, Fergus, recalling how he had been merely two years prior, knew and accepted that he still kept them at a reasonable arm's length distance from him. He just could not allow anyone too close just yet, despite the growing friendship between the trio.

This night, as he joined them, the mage and assassin sat in relative quiet, Magda's dark eyes searching out the shadows as the elf sat nearby, silently eating the stew the Teyrn's men had managed to put together. Spirits were low among the men and women, exhaustion threatening their very core, and although he knew he should be walking amongst them, spurring their spirits, the young noble just could not.

And so he settled on the other side of Magda, bowl of warm stew in hands, his eyes, as they tended to, wandering to the huge greatsword the tall mage wielded with such grace and ease.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to end the silence that haunted the group as surely as the undead they had been fighting.

"I do not believe I have ever seen a mage wield any bladed weapon," the young man said, his eyes still upon the strange blue glowing metal of the blade. "Let alone a greatsword the size of that one."

A smile spread across the mage's face. "Hmmm," she hummed around a mouthful of venison as Zevran chuckled beside her. Swallowing, she grinned. "Well, I'm not quite like other mages." she admitted.

"Obviously," the Teyrn almost found himself answering her grin with a wide one of his own. "So…" he waved a hand to the blade, beckoning her to tell her tale.

She settled her bowl to her lap, tilting her head slightly. "Are you really interested?" She asked, her brow furrowing. "It's not the most interesting of tales."

"It's better than sitting here in silence," Fergus suggested. "And, I am truly interested."

A dark brow tilted upwards. "It would mean telling my life's tale." At that admission, Zevran sat up straighter, his golden eyes fixed upon the lovely mage beside him. Fergus noticed, and realized that it was a tale she had not shared even with the man who was perhaps her greatest friend.

"I would be honored to hear it," Fergus replied, nodding toward the elf. "And it seems as though you've another interested audience."

Glancing over at her elven friend, Magda grimaced. "Well, alright, if you insist." She sat silent for a moment, obviously pulling her thoughts together. "Well, let's see." She grinned as she straightened her back, raising her chin rather proudly. "First, I'll have you know that my family is nobility." Fergus' eyebrows rose and Zevran chuckled beside her. "It's true. In Kirkwall, my family is considered quite high amongst the nobles. Father was a nephew to the main branch of the family, son of a younger brother or some such, but left shortly after some kind of misunderstanding." she shrugged. "He never quite told me what had happened to make him leave, but he always said that it was the best thing to happen to him." Her chocolate brown eyes softened at the memory of her family, and Fergus felt a twinge of understanding. He sat in silence as she continued to gather her thoughts and put them to words. And he realized that the mage had never spoken of her family - of her past before the Circle - to anyone.

She gave a great sigh. "Father became a mercenary. Traveled all around Thedas, and had plans to go even further. But, then, he met my mother." A hand brushed along her arm. "She was a healer. Not a mage, but a medic. Knew all about herbs, medicinal and poisonous, and together they hired out as mercenaries, eventually marrying. I was the sixth child born to them, the first five all boys." She grinned. "My eldest brother was fifteen years older than I. Father used to tell me that I was a surprise, the good kind."

Zevran chuckled, easily picturing a young Magda being protected by five strong boys. A sadness crossed her face as she continued.

"The family was in Highever when I was born, so Father hired himself out to your family," she pointed at Fergus, who blinked in surprise. "You're not much older than I am, so I wouldn't be surprised if you don't remember him."

Frowning slightly, Fergus asked, "What was your father's name?"

"Damion Amell," came her prompt reply. "We remained in Highever for quite some time."

"Damion…" Fergus muttered thoughtfully. "Hmmm…I believe I do remember him." He grinned up at the mage. "When I was eight years of age, I believe that Captain Damion Amell was one of my weapons masters." Magda's eyes widened as Fergus continued. "I remember he had this huge two handed sword, with runes etched along the edges, and a great jewel of the deepest blue at the pommel."

"Ha!" Magda chuckled aloud. "I know. I loved that sword. I had always wanted to wield it."

"Me, too," Fergus admitted, his smile slipping. "I remember he left when I turned thirteen."

Nodding sadly, Magda replied, "Mother became ill shortly after my birth. I don't recall much of her, other than her scent." She looked to Zevran. "Remember how Leliana would go on and on about Andraste's Grace?" The elf nodded. "Mother had the scent of elfroot and cinnamon about her. Probably from creating healing potions and poultices." She took a deep breath. "She died when I was about five. I remember Father being devastated." There was a tiny shrug of her shoulders. "The family packed up and left Highever shortly after that."

"Why?" Zevran asked, frowning. "Because you were a mage?"

Shaking her head, she looked at her friend. "No. My magic had not yet manifested itself. Father just…could not bear to remain in Highever. It had been the only place he and Mother had set down roots, actually settling down, taking a regular job, that sort of thing. My elder brothers - Orland and Jack - had left the family to begin their own families. August returned to the Free Marches to join a mercenary crew there. Mueller and Daylen remained with us, hiring out their swords alongside Father whenever and wherever they could."

"So, when did the Circle take you from your family?" Zevran asked.

"Oh, I was thirteen, almost fourteen, when my magic had manifested," she grinned at her friend, "Late bloomer, here," she nudged him with her shoulder. "But you, my impatient friend, are pushing the story too fast. Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Oh, si, mia a mica," the Antivan elf winked over at Fergus, who smiled broadly at the pair. "Please, do continue. I shall remain humbly silent during the telling of the Hero of Fereldan's boring childhood."

There was a playful glare in her eye as Magda shook her head. Turning back to smile at Fergus, she continued. "I grew up in a family of warriors. So, Father made certain that I, too, was trained with weapons. My first weapon was a dagger, just plain iron with a sturdy grip. He gave that to me when I turned eight. Then, he taught me how to wield a long sword and shield." Her smile turned dreamy. "But, that greatsword of his…that I wanted to learn how to wield. Daylen, the youngest brother, only three years my senior, thought I was crazy. He was twice my size and Father would not let him touch it. He knew that Father would never let me."

"But he did," Fergus offered, smirking over at the woman.

"Nope, not once. Father never allowed anyone else to so much as clean that blade. Said something about how a true weapons master knew each knick, each line and grain of his weapon, and that should another lay hands upon it, the connection between blade and wielder would be lost." She snorted indelicately. "I thought he was full of shit when he would say stuff like that. But," she reached over and gently ran a finger along Starfang's length. "I think I understand him a bit better now."

Silence prevailed over the small group for several moments, and Zevran, seated nearer to the mage, noticed her eyes suddenly glisten. He looked over to Fergus, taking note that the young Teyrn was watching her closely, a concerned expression upon his scarred face. "We were a few days outside of Denerim, I was a month or two away from my fourteenth birthday." She smiled up, but the tears remained in her eyes. "Father was taking us to the capitol for a holiday, to celebrate my birthday, to celebrate a huge bounty he had just collected. He just…" her voice faltered and she hung her head briefly. "He just wanted to celebrate our good fortune."

She took a shuddering breath, and Fergus found himself placing a calming hand to her forearm. Her dark eyes swam with tears as they lowered to look at the appendage, a shaky smile upon her face. "I have no idea how it happened. Daylen and I were goofing around, he picking on me for some nonsense of other. I don't recall what. Then, suddenly, there was a spark…from my hand," she raised her right hand, glaring down at her long, calloused fingers. "Just a spark, nothing more, nothing dramatic or devastating. Most likely something that would never have happened again, given how small a thing it was. However, there were templars nearby, we knew that, but didn't have any call to fear them. They said they were heading to Denerim and we invited them to share the campsite we had built. They had a young templar in training with them." She shrugged. "I don't recall much. But, they felt that tiny burst of magic, and descended upon us without warning."

Now the tears flowed freely as she spoke. "Father cut down five of the bastards, Mueller and Daylen killed two others. But, there was over a dozen of them, and one had managed to stab Father in the back." She grimaced. "None of us were wearing armor; we were camped, on a well-worn road into the city. We were too complacent, too relaxed and happy, just enjoying a time when Father and the boys weren't working, when we were on a true holiday. I managed to parry back the youngest of the templars and I watched as Mueller was cut down, gurgling on his own blood…" her voice caught and faltered, and Zevran put his bowl to the ground, pulling the mage over to him, wrapping his arms about her as she began to sob.

Shushing at her, Zevran whispered, "Hush, lovely one. Hush…" he kept crooning to her as Fergus sat in awkward silence beside her.

"Father was the last to fall, and then they surrounded me, smote me, and turned around and brought me to Kinloch Hold." She took a shuddering breath, pressing her face into Zevran's neck before pulling herself straight, rubbing at her eyes. "Sorry," she whispered, brushing the tears from her face.

"You have no cause to apologize, Magda," Fergus remarked quietly, his supper forgotten as he had listened to Magda's tale. The mage turned to look at him, and he offered her a smile, which she tried to return with a shaky one of her own. "No matter the years that pass, it is obvious your family loved you, and you them. You have the memories of your family, and, from what I understand, that is to be cherished among the magi." His eyes turned upwards, toward the stone ceiling above. "I wonder if my sister remembers me at all."

He felt a warm hand, slightly damp, pressed upon the top of his, and he turned to meet the warm, blood streaked browns of the mage. "If I had a brother like you, Fergus, I certainly would not have been able to forget him."

Ears warming slightly at the compliment, the young noble nodded. Behind her, Zevran chuckled slightly. "Now we know why it was that our dear Magda took to the blade so easily." He tutted at her. "And here I thought it was that elven spirit that had taught you the magic of an Arcane Warrior."

Grinning, she smiled. "Oh, but he did, my friend."

"Arcane Warrior?" Fergus found himself asking, and the pair nodded at him.

"In a ruins found within the Brecilian Forest, I came across an ancient elven spirit, trapped within a spirit gem," She waved a dismissive hand at the man. "Very old magic, I can assure you. He wanted freedom, and offered to instill within me the knowledge of the elven magics, allowing elven mages to use their magic to augment their strength, stamina and prowess while wielding a weapon and wearing armor. It was a very helpful magic for me to learn."

"So that's why you can wield that huge blade and wear heavy armor so easily?" the Teyrn remarked and Magda nodded.

"And because I already had that knowledge and training, it is even more effective for me." She grinned, "Even six years in that Maker forsaken tower had not diminished the lessons my father and brothers pounded into me about weapon mastery and such."

"Your father was a wonderful teacher," he said, a smile upon his lips as he recalled his lessons with the man. "Firm, but understanding." His brow furrowed with memory, and Magda watched and waited for him to continue, hungry for another person's understanding of her father. "He cared, too. He did not just want to put a blade in my hand and send me off to battle. It was clear that I was to understand every aspect of the weapon of my choice. I know that, despite having had many other weapons masters after he left, it was Damion Amell's training that had saved my life many times over."

Magda nodded, that small, sad smile once again upon her lips. "He was a great man," she whispered, eyes turning to look out the large windows of the sheltered courtyard just beyond the Great Hall's double doors they had commandeered for that evening's rest.

The three fell silent, listening as the mournful cry of an owl pierced through the night.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry for the delay in updating. I was trying to concentrate on Reborn, but this story…it kept calling! My thanks to everyone who continues to read, lurk, alert and review! Tyanilth, Reyavie, Josie Lange, MsBarrows!_

_Worth Fighting For_

_Chapter 4_

Breathless, his chest heaving from the recent exertion, Fergus Cousland stood within the ruined remains of the family's living quarters. His gray eyes scanned the still stained stone walls, skimming over the once fine but now moldering carpets, finally resting upon the iron bound door that led to the chambers he had once shared with his wife and son.

Panic nearly overwhelmed him, and he forced himself to turned away, his gaze inevitably fixing upon the larger, more ornate door of the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever.

His parents' rooms.

One more circuit, and he stood facing the shattered remains of the door to his youngest sister's quarters. He had heard rumors, words he had no cause not to believe, that the bodies of his parents, of his wife and son had been cremated in a mass grave along with those others who had died during Howe's assault.

Of Elissa, his youngest sister, he had not heard a word of. No rumor, no gossip. The silence surrounding his sister's whereabouts was as deafening as the pounding blood in his ears as he stood, staring at the debris.

And that, of everything he now faced, hurt the young nobleman the most. With the confirmed deaths of the other members of his family, he was not left questioning their current condition, their locations or if they were forgotten, left to lay where they fell, un-ushered into the Fade to meet the Maker at His side.

Elissa's absence…the constant question of her whereabouts prevented a chapter in his life from being fully acknowledged and closed.

There would always be the questions: _Where was Elissa? Did she live? Did she die, alone, forgotten, abandoned?_ The very idea sent a shudder along his spine, and he bowed his head, his dark eyes closing for a moment.

Then the young man lifted his head, turning his gaze from the door, his body straight and still, taking in the bedraggled appearance of those warriors and soldiers that had fought their way beside him to the upper level of the castle, his eyes finally settling upon Magda's ragged appearance. Every one of the warriors – Magda and Zevran included – sported gashes, their armor rent from sharpened, skeletal claws, their flesh torn, their faces bloodied.

All of the blood he saw upon them was their own. The undead, rising from their slumber upon cold floors and splintered furniture, had no fluids left within their veins. Their bodies nothing more than dried husks, many unrecognizable.

Although some – too many, in Fergus' estimation – had remained recognizable.

Many had been servants, apparently left alive after Howe's initial assault. Alive to continue to serve the traitorous bastard and his vile minions. And, once the decision to abandon the castle had been made, those poor souls had been slaughtered, just as their fellows had those months prior.

Fergus almost spat at the thought of Rendon Howe. And he wished the man stood before him now, just so that he could have the pleasure of rending his life from him.

A glance to the mage who stood, silent, waiting for him to take the lead once more, calmed him. For it was by her hand that the traitor had perished.

And, for some reason, that thought was enough.

For she had taken the bastard's life during their time prior to the Landsmeet. After he had told her of the massacre, as relayed to him by the survivors they had encountered during their journey from Redcliffe to Denerim. He remembered how calmly her eyes were as she gazed at him, promising him that the man would not be allowed to continue to reap the rewards from his betrayal. She would not seek him out for punishment. No. She had agreed to bring the man in to answer for his crimes before the Landsmeet.

However, she did not promise to keep him alive should he threaten her or any of her companions.

He remembered, quite clearly, Alistair telling the young noble that Magda had, without a second thought, driven her greatsword into the gut of the nobleman, dropping him to the floor, when he refused to surrender to the mercy of the Landsmeet. His amber eyes were downcast as he related how the mage had bent down over the prone nobleman's form to slice open his throat with a dagger and stood, watching as he bled out upon the cold, stone floor of his own dungeon.

It was Howe's words, however, that had chilled the nobleman more than the bloodlust of the usual quiet and congenial mage. "Damn you all to the Maker! I deserved more!"

Fergus remembered shuddering at the quiet fear he had seen within Alistair's eyes as the young Not-Quite-The-King had recounted the slaughter through the mansion of the Arl of Denerim.

He recalled how his blood had turned cold as Magda approached him, her own eyes unreadable, as she thrust that bloodied dagger into his hand. Without a word, ignoring all of the others, the mage had then ascended the stairs to lock herself away in the chambers she shared with Alistair.

Alistair had spent the night in Fergus' chambers, as Magda had refused to allow even him entry.

And so she stood now, quiet and waiting, but lacking the unusual coldness of that bloody day. Now, only concern and compassion welled from her eyes, her very stance showing how she was ready to help him bear any burden had he the need of her. Never had he appreciated a friend more so than at that moment.

He turned his back to the ruined door, facing once more the doorway to his own set of rooms. Taking a breath, he stepped forward, aware that many of his men now stood at attention, others moving forward to stand behind their liege lord. Zevran's own eyes, honey gold, shone with concern as the human noble reached out, and turned the handle to the door.

He was uncertain what he had expected to find, there within the chambers he knew his wife and only child had perished those many, many months before. But what he faced had not been anything close.

The walls had all been scrubbed clean and white washed. Ancient sylvan wood bookshelves that had once stood against the stone walls were gone. In their stead stood several beds, lining the walls, footlockers at the end of each. Obviously, the room had been converted into soldiers' quarters.

Nothing was as he had recalled. Nothing remained of his wife, so prim and proper, so very much aware of decorum and decor. No pretty dresses hanging to air; none of the Orlesian paintings that had once adorned the walls, nor the tapestries from Antiva to cover the cold stone during the winter months. Nothing as feminine and pretty as she had been. Nothing to remind him of his Oriana.

And there was nothing of his young son, Oren – no scattered wooden toy soldiers for him to step upon and bruise his feet, no stone golems standing guard over their home, ready to meet any threat...it was as if the child had never drawn breath, never invaded this space with his continuous chatter, warm laughter or scattered toys.

Nothing.

A warm, strong hand closed of his shoulder, and, without turning, he raised a hand to clasp Magda's own. He took a deep, steadying breath, eyes closing as his fingers tightened about the mage's.

He truly did not know what he had expected. But this _nothing_ had certainly not been it.

He said not a word, made no sound, as he turned and walked from the chambers. After the briefest of moments, Magda turned, her eyes catching Zevran's for a moment as she left the chambers, carefully closing the door behind her.

0O0

It was a week after they had first arrived at the sundered gates of Cousland Castle that the rightful Teyrn had returned with his retinue. One week to fight their way through the undead and demons that haunted the halls. A priestess had been called from the town of Highever, and it was their hope that the holy woman could cleanse the structure of any undue taint the death within these halls had created.

Magda had offered her own services as a mage, explaining to the young Teyrn that, while belief was a strong and powerful thing, only with magic could the halls truly be considered cleansed of any influence from the tearing of the Veil. He listened as the young mage explained how they had found an ancient Grey Warden fortress – teaming with the undead and demons called forth from the Fade centuries before by an overly-proud Commander – Sophia Dryden – and an equally foolish blood mage. Only using the magic of a powerful mage could the tears be mended, preventing any further invasion from the Fade.

Fergus listened carefully, and gave his consent. Once the Revered Mother had gone through the structure with her own cleansing ritual, Magda would then be allowed to perform the magic required to ensure the mending of the Veil.

A memory of the relieved smile that crossed the pretty mage's face came, unbidden, to Fergus' mind. He knew well that many looked at magic with fear and distrust. However, he was not such a person. Magic was a gift of the Maker; those who called it a curse did not know their scripture. 'Magic was created to serve man…' Andraste's most famous quote. The power of a healer could keep death or serious, life debilitating injuries at bay; a battlemage could turn the tide of battle from loss to victory with minimal loss of life…a mage powerful in the School of Creation could help with the everyday toil of the average man in ways that no one considered.

At least the Fereldan Grand Cleric felt that she and the entire nation owed Magda a debt that could never be repaid. That spoke a great deal to the hope of Fergus Cousland and many others that the mages would be freed of their tower prison, free to use their Maker given talents to help their fellow man.

The memory of Magda's smile continued to warm him as he made his rounds of the castle, checking each room, each level as his men were doing at this time. Making certain that no one remained unclaimed or forgotten.

The lower cellars were the most difficult. A contingent of the Highever soldiers had discovered evidence that bodies had been stored there for an indeterminable period of time. Nothing remained there now, however the blood stains and body shaped indentations within the dust that remained upon the stone floors gave testimony to a mass grave at one time.

It was also within the lower cellars that Magda had confirmed a great tear within the Veil. There were no bodies stored there when they had reclaimed the castle, and thus they had fought none of the undead that were scattered along the hallways of the upper levels. Nor had any demons made threat against them as they searched the expansive underground level of the ancient fortress. But it was within the lower cellars that Magda wished to begin her ritual. And Fergus had agreed.

And so now they waited for the Revered Mother to make ready and travel to the castle to perform the cleansing that would settle many of the Highever knights' hearts at ease. The cleansing – or exorcism – would also serve as a funeral rite to those who had perished within the great, stone walls, offering up the words to the Maker's ears, to ensure their place by his side.

The creaking of the heavy wooden door brought Fergus' attention back to his current duty, and his dark eyes skimmed along the floor, adjusting to the dim light of the single window room. This had once been one of the servants' quarters, a spacious chamber that would house a family of four or five. Here, unlike the nobles' quarters, remained evidence of the young family that had resided within these four walls: a once pretty dress, for special occasions, lay rotting upon the dusty floor; a stuffed doll, with one arm torn loose and hanging by a thread, lay propped up against the stone wall behind the small bed; food lay within baskets, rotting, covered with mold and growth. The very air was heavy, despite the single window, which stood, half open to the world outside.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Fergus backed from the room, carefully closing the door, and started toward the next chambers that awaited his inspection.


	5. Chapter 5

_Huh. Been awhile since I've updated. Thanks to everyone who continues to read, alert, favorite and review! Kira Tamarion, Kiki Aries, cloud1004, MsBarrows, Josie Lange, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Tyanilth, Reyavie, Liso66 (ah, many of these reviewers are extremely talented writers. I strongly recommend their wonderful stories!)._

_Ooo…shameless plug here. For some back story to Magda, Fergus, Zevran, Alistair and others, read Ten Minutes to Dying. It is a collection of shorts, each written in answer to another Cheeky Monkey Challenge – the Ten Minute Challenge._

_Worth Fighting For_

_Chapter 5_

The week passed by with a flurry of activity. Fergus had taken over his parents' chambers, avoiding his former chambers whenever possible. Magda had been given Elissa's rooms, and Zevran, never wanting to be far, opted to sleep in the sitting room of Magda's rooms, stating he would be quite contented on the comfortable couch against one wall.

The Revered Mother from Highever came to the castle, reciting the Chant and sprinkling scented holy water throughout the residence. Once she had reached the undercellars, however, she paused, going pale. Even she could feel the very wrongness of the place, and had happily agreed to allow Magda to accompany her as she continued with the cleansing.

Once the priestess had left, declaring the castle cleansed, Magda began her rounds. Using her magic, she was able to determine the weakened curtain of the Veil, and used a spell she had learned from Avernus to close the small ruptures.

The undercellars, however, were a main cause of her concern.

Despite most of the violence being perpetrated in the upper levels of the ancient fortress, many of the bodies had been tossed into the cellars, being left there until such a time when Howe's men had been able to build a massive pyre upon which they could be burned. Because of how strongly the corruption of the Veil was in the lower sections of the castle, Magda determined that many of those poor unfortunates had been alive when brought down to these depths. It was quite possible to most of the castle's residents had perished from their wounds, surrounded by the dead and dying, their pain and terror colliding and blending with one another. Such a disturbance to the border between the living world and the Fade forced open many ruptures to the Veil, the weaknesses calling out to the demons and other denizens who sought to wreak chaos upon the realm of the Maker's children.

Magda was not a powerful mage, despite what propaganda would say about her. She had come into her magic late, and even then it had manifested itself briefly and sporadically. Only her strong will and body had assisted her in passing her Harrowing. Otherwise, she was certain she would have fallen either to the demon within the Fade or Cullen's blade.

And so she was concerned that she may not be strong enough to close the ruptures herself.

She decided to try it, however. They were many days from the Circle Tower, and, to her knowledge, there were no other mages within the area.

Fergus and Zevran both had insisted upon standing guard with her as she prepared her spells for closing the rends within the fabric of the Veil. The trio now stood, surrounded by several of the warriors who had accompanied them back to the Castle those weeks ago, Magda explaining what she believed would occur during the ritual.

"Fortunately for us," she was saying, dark eyes thoughtful and intense. "the spell casting does not require a powerful mage," she gave a shrug here. "Any mage with power can do so. It is simply a matter of focusing my mana upon the rents, pulling the Veil together."

"Rather like a seamstress, my Warden?" Zevran asked, his golden eyes skimming away to stare at the door that would open to the stairwell to the undercellars.

Nodding her head, the young mage replied, "Yes, Zev. My magic will pull the holes together, and then stitch the damage. The dangerous part of the entire ritual comes from the potential for demons to come through the Veil while I try and repair the damage."

"Demons?" Fergus asked, his dark gray eyes fixed upon the mage as she explained. Behind him, he could hear the shuffling of his soldiers' feet as they listened in on the conversation.

"Will be nothing more than we have already faced, yes?" Zevran remarked, clearly recalling when they had assisted Avernus in repairing the damage at Soldier's Keep. Magda nodded, turning to Fergus.

"I doubt we will face the magnitude of what we encountered when we first returned here," she said softly, placing a comforting hand upon the young Teyrn's arm. Now her eyes hardened. "However, as I said before, it may be prudent for you to remain here and _not_ accompany us below."

Several of the surrounding guardsmen echoed the mage's sentiment, clearly concerned that their liege lord would consider doing something as dangerous of face what could be another army of demons and their ilk.

Resolute, Fergus shook his head, frowning deeply. "This is my home," he replied softly, ignoring the clenching in his gut at the thought of fighting more of the Fade abominations. "How could I possibly ask others to face dangers I would strive to avoid?"

Stubborn, Magda retried her earlier argument. "You are lord of these lands, Fergus," she gently reminded him. "The people of Highever and your Teynir would be greatly…disappointed should they lose their Teyrn."

But Fergus merely shook his head, gripping his greatsword – a weapon wrested from the Wilds as he strove to pull himself together during the Blight – he answered with steel in his voice. "I am lord, yes. I rule these lands. But we Couslands," here was a slight hitch to his voice, the only burr in the steely persona he presented, "always do our duty." He shook his head, "We never abandon our duty."

Clearly she would not dissuade him. Realizing that, the mage studied his face for another moment, finding thereon only steadfast resolve. And then, with a nod of her head, turned, and led them into the undercellars.

0O0

Air circulated in heat and angry energy as the fiery claw of the demon swiped out, trying to catch the young mage standing, deep in concentration, just beyond its reach. Snarling, it flowed over the stone floor, inching closer, shrieking as a blade bit deeply into its side, causing it to turn its attention to the more immediate threat of the warrior now twisting the blade of his greatsword deeper into the undulating form of the rage demon.

Nervous energy skimmed along Magda's nerves, the power of the magic she was casting as well as the countering power of the demons that sought to cease the mage from closing the tears in the Veil. She tried to ignore that Fergus and Zevran were now battling against a rage and hunger demons to keep her safe as she continued singing out the words of the spell, focusing her power upon the damage. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the young Teyrn shout at the demon, her eyes and thoughts focused upon the shimmering barrier to the Fade.

She felt a quiver along the air, forcing itself free of the damaged barrier. Taking a steadying breath, she continued her assault, magic flowing from her in steady ebbs, linking up with the torn, ragged edges of the gashes, forcing her will to pull the edges together to seal the ruptures.

Great power erupted from the Veil, and Magda could only watch as, as one, Fergus and Zevran turned from their vanquished foes, to face the naked, undulating form of a desire demon.

Purple flame flared from the top of her head, red eyes glared at the men with fury as her full lipped, sensuous mouth widened into a malicious, pointy toothed grin. Zevran, tutting at the demon, merely gripped his blades tightly, directing with a nod of his head for Fergus to circle around the other side. A moment of panic surged through the young mage as she watched her friends face off against the powerful demon, knowing she could not add her own magic or blade to their battle, needing all of her concentration to shut off the final few rents.

Stepping carefully, the former Crow assassin made his way around the demon, which seemed concentrated upon Fergus, who stood before her, threatening with his huge sword. The elf forced down his concern for the mage, who he knew had to be weakening, expending so much of her power as she was. Give the girl a blade, and the elf seldom worried over her safety. Well, at least not quite as frequently as he did whenever she relied solely upon her rather rudimentary and unreliable spell casting abilities.

Smirking to himself, vowing never to admit such things to the mage herself, he dashed forward, driving his blades into the naked, unprotected back of the desire demon.

Shrieking her fury, the demon twisted, long clawed hands reaching for the wily elf, grasping and twitching to catch hold of him. The furious expression upon her beautiful face twisted into a snarl of pain as the Teyrn of Highever swung his blade down, landing a glancing but painful blow to the demon's shoulder. A pained smirk crossed her features as she swiped out at Zevran, who danced gracefully back, that smirk widening as she spun about to face off against the greatsword.

Magda forced her eyes from her friends, seeking out yet another rent in the fabric of the Veil, her mind barely registering another pained shriek that rose from the throat of the desire demon or the sounds of the continued battle about her.

Twisting his grip to secure it upon the leathern covered hilt, Fergus side stepped a viscous swipe from the demon's powerful claws. Dark eyes narrowed in concentration as he moved with the beast, blade brought up before him as he crouched slightly, stepping carefully, foot crossing over foot, keeping his balance and attention focused.

A sly grin crossed the demon's face, and she practically purred at the thought of bringing down the human male. She glanced – quickly – to the side, taking note of the elven male that slipped into the shadows and from sight. Realizing that she needed to take care of the greater threat – the stronger male with the more devastating blade – she chose to ignore the elf and his stealthy ways. The anger and need radiating off the human was so…tantalizing.

If only there was time…

Her thoughts were shattered, torn as the blades of the shadow hidden elf dug deeply into her side. Snarling, she swatted at the elf, growling as he danced away, a grin upon his tattooed features, enraging her further.

Dark blood pooled from the wound, slinking down her flesh in a thick rivulet of vile corruption. Twisting, she raised an arm, barely deflecting the swipe from the greatsword, her features distorting as the sharp blade dug deeply into the pale flesh of her forearm.

Zevran took advantage again of the Fade creature's distraction, and darted in, both blades slashing the air, capturing the creature's attention as they lacerated the revealed flesh upon her belly. Features warping into a mask of rage, she raised her arms, fully turning to face off against the bothersome elf. As her arms rose into the air, her back arched slightly, a gasp escaping her lips as the tip and then full length of Fergus' blade burst through the skin of her chest and between her naked breasts.

Dark blood exploded from the wound, and Fergus gave a vicious pull, twisting it and driving it upwards, cutting through bone and flesh, muscle and tendon, to escape through the creature's shoulder.

Head flopping back, the demon fell, so slowly, to the ground, finally disappearing as the life faded from her body.

Breathing heavily, the two men eyed one another briefly, Fergus giving the assassin a salute before turning to face off against another foe. Smiling at the Teyrn's back, Zevran faded into the shadows, searching out a victim of his own.

Shrieks filled the air, and the shimmer of the Veil weakened, darkened, the glow fading as the mage continued her barrage of spells upon the barrier. With a shout, Fergus swung his great blade into the bodies of the fade creatures that threatened his home, the soldiers who had accompanied them adding their own strength and skill to the defeat of these latest of invaders.

The air cleared, the sounds of battle faltered and finally halted. With a final last weakened blast, the assundered Veil was repaired, and the demons that had assaulted the forces of Highever diminished and faded, screaming out their fury and frustration of being thwarted their place on the physical realm. Panting with exertion, Fergus turned slowly, carefully taking note of his warriors, taking pride that while most sported wounds all remained upon their feet. One of the soldiers nearby gave out a gasp, and the Teyrn of Highever turned in time to watch as the mage who had assisted him in reclaiming his home slumped to the cold stone floor unconscious.


End file.
